


Fuck, Nonagesimus, Just Step On Me

by darlingofdots



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Boot Worship, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Gideon wants to be stepped on, Light Dom/sub, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Vibrators, You Are Allowed To Want, look that bit from ch2 is really hot okay, yeah I think that counts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingofdots/pseuds/darlingofdots
Summary: “Look,” Gideon said, reaching up to cradle Harrow’s face in her hands. “I love you, right? So damn much. And the sex is fantastic. But you’re always so careful, as if you think I’ll break if you touch me, and there’s things I want to try that require a little bit of breaking, you know? Things that — work for me. Float my boat. Butter my toast. Get me all hot and bothered.”kink meme prompt: sometime in the after times when they're actually together, Gideon confesses that she's never stopped thinking about that time in Chapter 2 when Harrow put her boot on Gideon's throat, because it was so hot. Gideon asks her to do it again
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85
Collections: TLT Kink Meme





	Fuck, Nonagesimus, Just Step On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I saw it on the kink meme and I couldn't help myself. What can I say.
> 
> Many thanks to my friends for making sure this is legible, and especially to Elldritch and Syntheseas for detailed beta reading!

Most of the time, Harrow touched her like she was about to break. She touched her like she was a fragile, precious thing, to be petted and kissed and coaxed to the edge so gently that it barely felt like falling. From the beginning, Gideon had been overwhelmed by this; the terrible tenderness of Harrow’s touch, of her fingertips brushing the hair from Gideon’s forehead and murmuring praise into her ear, of her lips on Gideon’s skin as she kissed her with a reverence that brought Gideon to her knees. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Most of the time, Gideon went mad about it.

Tonight, they had ended up tangled together on the ratty old sofa, Harrow safe within the circle of Gideon’s arms. She was reading something Gideon had not cared to check the title of while Gideon dozed, and her free hand rested just above Gideon’s knee. Gideon had gone three rounds against Camilla earlier that day so her limbs felt pleasantly heavy and there were bruises blooming in several choice spots all over her body. She was comfortable, and Harrow was in her arms, and it was disgustingly domestic.

Harrow shut the book with a thud and wriggled around to face her. “Bed?” she asked, yawning a little. “We could. If you’re not too tired —”

“Scared you’ll wear me out?”

Harrow snorted. “I’m hardly that good.”

That pinged a nerve somewhere in the back of Gideon’s brain. The words wrapped themselves around a strand of memory and _pulled_ , and the images that broke through the surface went straight to Gideon’s cunt. “Hey,” she said, unable to stop herself, “can I ask you something?”

A barrier came down in Harrow’s eyes, bright as golden coins. “Of course.”

That was a relief, but she hadn’t really parsed the question yet. She _had_ a question, and she felt that she needed to ask it urgently, but the words got stuck somewhere in her throat and wouldn’t come out. Gideon coughed. “Do you remember,” she said, “the last time I tried to escape?”

“I am unlikely to forget,” Harrow pointed out, and Gideon nodded to concede the point.

“Right, yeah, well, that day, you offered me a fair fight, and you _cheated_ , may I remind you, and broke my fucking heart, but when you had me on the ground…” She shivered. Not from fear or anger, though. It was a good shiver, a delicious tingle travelling all the way down her spine like an electric shock. Shaking her head, she continued: “You had me on the ground, and you kicked me, and then you put your boot on my throat and you _pushed_.”

Still sitting between her stretched-out legs, Harrow squirmed. “Please do not remind me,” she said, golden eyes downcast. “I cannot apologise enough.”

“No, the thing is,” Gideon said, and stopped. This was important. She couldn’t fuck this up, or it would undo all the progress they had made over the past few years. “Look,” she said, reaching up to cradle Harrow’s face in her hands. “I love you, right? So damn much. And the sex is _fantastic._ But you’re always so careful, as if you think I’ll break if you touch me, and there’s things I want to try that require a little bit of breaking, you know? Things that — work for me. Float my boat. Butter my toast. Get me all hot and bothered.”

“Alright, alright.” Harrow waved her off before she could come up with any more ridiculous euphemisms, which was a relief, because Gideon was running out. “But I thought you enjoyed it when we fuck. Have I been hurting you? You could have told me, you know.”

“You’re not hurting me,” Gideon reassured her, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “Except sometimes I would kind of like it if you did?”

In front of her, Harrow went very still. Her dark brows knit together and her forehead furrowed and then she took Gideon’s wrists and lowered her hands away from her face. “Explain.”

So Gideon explained. It was weird at first, spelling out her fantasies in the open air while Harrow sat there and looked like she wanted to be taking notes. But when she didn’t interrupt, and didn’t look disgusted, the words came spilling out of Gideon’s mouth in a great big rush, sketching her ideas in rough, broad strokes, and she felt the heat rising in her cheeks and chest and pooling low in her belly. By the time she was done, she felt parched, and like she had opened up her ribcage for Harrow to view her insides at her leisure, and really, really horny.

“We don’t have to do any of it. I feel bad asking,” she finished, lamely. “You give me so much. It feels greedy, wanting more.”

“Gideon,” Harrow said. She took Gideon’s hands, twined their fingers together, and raised her hand to her lips to kiss her knuckles. “You are allowed to want. I took so much — asked so much of you. You _died_ for me. Always ask. I won’t always say yes, but you can always ask.”

Swallowing, Gideon nodded. “Is that a no?”

Harrow said, “Get on the floor.”

Gideon slid to the carpet without hesitation. She was so turned on she thought she might combust, and all available brain processing power was rapidly being diverted to keeping her from frantically humping the sofa for some sweet, sweet relief. The tone of Harrow’s voice circumvented her impulse control entirely and simply made her obey, so she knelt on the floor and looked up at her, trying not to rub her thighs together in the desperate pursuit of friction.

Harrow turned to sit upright, knees spread wide, feet firmly planted on the ground. “Come here,” she said and crooked her finger, and Gideon went. She shuffled forward to kneel between Harrow’s legs, heartbeat deafeningly loud in her own ears.

With a frown, Harrow said, “Are you sure about this?”

“Fuck,” Gideon said, eloquently. Then she pulled herself together and nodded. “Super sure. Could not be any surer.”

Harrow rolled her eyes. “Fine. Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you have to.”

“Harrow…”

“Promise me.”

Gideon swallowed. “I promise.”

“Good.” She hesitated, then said, her voice dropping several degrees to the icy register of chapel, “Now behave.”

She made Gideon undo Harrow’s trousers and pull them down, then do the same with her underwear. The black fabric pooled at her feet until she kicked them off to land vaguely out of Gideon’s field of vision. Gideon’s own clothes followed, so she knelt in her bandeau and pants, and Harrow ran her fingers through the buzzed hair at the back of Gideon’s head and made her shiver. The edge of one nail dug into Gideon’s scalp. “Go fetch my boots.”

They were not the same boots she had worn in Drearburh. These ones were also black, also heavy, but the soles were less thick and had never been dragged through the greasy grit of a drill shaft. When Gideon returned to the sofa, carrying a boot in each hand, there was a cushion on the carpet where she had been kneeling.

“For your knees,” Harrow said, blushing.

Gideon had never been one for worship. As a child, she had been forced to it, until the nuns finally conceded that she would never be a good and proper penitent of the Ninth and released her to the tender mercies of Aiglamene, who at least never made her pray. Even before the whole entire mess of finding out that God was actually just some dude with a bad taste in clothes and also her dad, Gideon could not remember the last time she had actually prayed.

Now, she sank to her knees at the altar of Harrowhark Nonagesimus, naked from the waist down and waiting for her, and embraced her penance.

“Put them on me,” Harrow commanded, and Gideon kissed her way down each slender calf down to the bony ankles and fumbled with the laces. It was a little awkward, because the angles were bad and she hadn’t done this before, but when she looked up she saw Harrow watching her with her pupils blown out and her teeth digging into her bottom lip and the realisation that this was good for her, too, hit her like a sack of skulls. On pure instinct, Gideon shifted her weight back to gain some room, raised Harrow’s booted foot in her hands, and kissed the leather instep without breaking eye contact.

Harrow said, “Griddle,” and, “fuck,” and, “your mouth, now,” so Gideon leaned forward and buried her face between her legs.

If this was it — if they did nothing else tonight — Gideon would not care. She loved this. Screw achieving Lyctorhood and killing God, this was what her whole life had been in pursuit of: eating Harrow out. In her not-so-humble opinion, she was good at it too, at least judging by the sounds Harrow made when she ran her tongue up the length of her. She breathed in the heavy musk and licked up into her, then snaked her hands under Harrow’s thighs to grasp her hips. Harrow took the hint and raised her legs to rest on Gideon’s shoulders, sighing as the angle changed and gave her pressure somewhere she really needed it. The edge of her boots cut into the skin of Gideon’s back and _yeah_ , okay, that was something; failing to suppress a moan, she redoubled her efforts and was rewarded with the subtle shift of Harrow’s muscles under her hands, the hitch in her breath that meant she was close.

“ _Yes,”_ Harrow gasped, one hand coming to rest on the top of Gideon’s head. Gideon circled her cunt with the tip of her tongue and Harrow’s fingers twisted into her hair, the pain a shocking counter to the need and desperation building in her. Gideon shifted awkwardly on her knees, trying to chase some insufficient ghost of friction, but Harrow noticed and patted her cheek and said, “Not yet, my love,” and so Gideon didn’t, just closed her eyes and gave herself over to her task.

She cried out when she came, tensing and fluttering against her mouth. Gideon swallowed her down and worked her through it, gently lapping up every last drop of her until Harrow recovered enough to sit up straight and pull her up to kiss her. “I love tasting myself on you,” Harrow admitted, almost shyly, as if this was the filthiest thing she had ever heard. “And you looked so beautiful down there.”

Gideon whined. She couldn’t help it. Her jaw ached a little; if she didn’t get to get off soon, her brain would melt out of her ears.

Harrow hummed, a rumbling sound at the back of her throat. “You did so well, beloved. I should reward you. Don’t you think so?”

“Hnngh. Harrow.”

Rolling her eyes, Harrow brushed the sweaty fringe from Gideon’s eyes. “You can still change your mind,” she said. “If it’s too much —”

“Nonagesimus. Fuck. Just step on me.”

And that was all Harrow had needed, it seemed. Her golden eyes went hard, dispelling all the lingering languid lethargy of her orgasm, and she dug her fingernails into Gideon’s shoulders and _pushed_. Gideon went easily, letting herself be pushed and rearranging herself to lie flat on her back. Harrow rose to her feet with fluid, deadly grace and came to stand above her, the hem of her shirt just brushing the tops of her thighs, and perhaps it was only her imagination, but to Gideon, she suddenly seemed to loom menacingly, illuminated by the flickering light of dying candles.

She toyed with the bracelet of knucklebones at her right wrist, considering. “Get naked and lie back down.”

Gideon tossed her underwear in the general direction of where she thought Harrow’s had ended up, and lay back down.

“Stay there,” she said. “Don’t move.”

Gideon stared at the ceiling, still as a corpse, as the sweat dried on her skin. Ironically, the wait only exacerbated how desperate she was to be touched, to be brought to the brink and pushed over again and again until the raging fire inside her was extinguished. She briefly considered just using her hand to relieve the worst of it before Harrow came back but she knew instinctively that it would be worth it to wait. So she stayed there, didn’t move, and let anticipation coil in her stomach like a spring ready to snap.

When Harrow returned, she had changed her shirt for one of her old church robes. It still held the faint threat of cold rock and clacking prayer bones, but the strip of bare brown skin where it gaped at the front meant she was naked underneath, and wasn’t _that_ a fantasy Gideon hadn’t known she had.

Harrow also carried a box, which she set down kneeling by Gideon’s side. “I thought,” she said neutrally, “I would give you something to keep you occupied.”

When she showed her the contents, Gideon’s heart skipped a beat. With infinite care, Harrow positioned the vibrator against Gideon’s clit, and removed one of the bone studs she still wore in her ears. It sprang into a writhing mass of regenerating ash in her hand, which she used to anchor the device in place with a network of webbed bone over Gideon’s hips and thighs. She could probably break it if she really tried, but when she bucked her hips experimentally, nothing budged. Just that small movement and the resulting pressure of the vibrator against her were enough that she almost came then and there, but it was obvious that Harrow had plans, so she bit her lip and silently counted to ten until she calmed down.

Accessories were a new addition to their sex life, and one they had both been hesitant about despite their curiosity. It had been difficult to agree on where to start, because although they had grown to understand each other both intimately and instinctively, they were still two different people with different needs. This one though, a fairly basic wand with a wide head and surprisingly powerful vibration, had been an easy choice as soon as Gideon pointed out that it would let her get off while Harrow sat on her face. They had not used it all that often because they were both a little intimidated by it, but clearly this was a night for pushing boundaries.

Gideon met Harrow’s gaze. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit she had not quite dropped yet.

“Hey,” Gideon said. “We can stop, if you want.”

“I’m not backing out!” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

At any other time, the lowest setting probably would not have done much for her, but Gideon was close, and desperate, and it was the only real stimulation she’d gotten all night. She tried to bite it down, failed, and managed only to choke out a warning before the fragile band of her control snapped and she came, shuddering, writhing on the floor under Harrow’s golden glare.

When she returned to some semblance of coherence, she realised that Harrow had crossed her arms and was glaring in the closest imitation of the dark expression of their youth. “Well then,” she said primly. “I suppose I should have known better. I suppose you’ll either control yourself or I really will wear you out.”

And she turned the vibration up, and rose to her feet.

Gideon tipped her head back in anticipation, even though the wand on her clit was demanding a significant chunk of her attention. But it was the hem of her robes that she felt on her face first, as Harrow came to stand by her shoulder. The fabric slid across her skin, cool and smooth and soft, and then the edge of Harrow’s boot found the vulnerable space underneath Gideon’s chin and she gasped.

“Shit,” Harrow said, eyes wide. “This really works for you.”

“ _Please.”_ Gideon was aware she was whining, and she could not have cared less. “Fuck, Harrow, please.”

It was not a lot of pressure, and it was not enough to restrict her breath, but Harrow pushed the sole of her boot into Gideon’s throat, solid and unyielding, and Gideon saw stars. The wand rumbled on between her legs, unrelenting, and Harrow hitched up her robes to expose a truly indecent amount of leg. There was a minute shift of the weight as she adjusted her balance, and that was all it took.

Gideon had had plenty of orgasms in her life, both with Harrow and by herself. It hadn’t gotten boring, exactly, but the novelty had worn off eventually; there was so much more to sex than orgasms.

But _holy fucking hell._

She did not get a break, either. By the time she got back to herself enough to seek out Harrow’s eyes, she had clearly decided all this was worth it and only waited long enough to reassure herself that Gideon was still conscious before she returned the boot to the side of her neck and pushed her head back as far as it would go.

“Go on,” she said, “you can take it.”

Gideon made a noise, somewhere, that maybe was supposed to be “yes” or “Harrow” or “thank you” but came out utterly incoherent, and then she fell again, just as hard as the last time.

After the fourth, Harrow turned off the wand and knelt by her shoulder again. “Talk to me,” she said anxiously, her hands fluttering from her forehead to her chin to her throat, checking her pulse.

Gideon said, “Mmmf.” There were tears streaming down the side of her face into her ears; she vaguely remembered sobbing.

She hadn’t thought Harrow would actually be worried, but the sigh she let out could only be one of relief. She leaned down to kiss her, ever so gently. “I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

They stayed like that for what felt like a long time, Gideon prone and spent and boneless and Harrow murmuring sweet nothings while Gideon’s head spun out of orbit and back again. Her fingers were tingling; she wiggled them a bit, then moved her arms so she could reach for Harrow’s hand.

“Thanks,” she croaked. Her throat was as dry as the Sixth House archives. She was exhausted, and every fibre of her being was vibrating with electricity; she felt twitchy and fucked-out and as though she could sleep for a myriad.

“I really have worn you out, haven’t I?” Harrow said, eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like delight. She leaned in close and brushed her lips against the line of Gideon’s jaw, licking up the mingling salt of sweat and tears. “It won’t be the last time I make you weep.”

**Author's Note:**

> ... and then aftercare happens, obviously.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://darlingofdots.tumblr.com/) and [tumblr](https://twitter.com/darlingofdots)!


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